nine2five 2,4 One Step Forward
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: The past has come back to haunt you, Lo-pan! I mean, Casey and, um, Morgan. Will Chuck and Sarah-and Ellie, and Devon, and Alex-stand by their men? What do you think? No actual quotes from Big Trouble in Little China were harmed in the making of this episode.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **Bits and pieces from four different episodes. Enjoy.**  
**

* * *

"_She's down!" _

"_I'm the one person here they won't kill." _

"_Castle Mainframe, this is Mary Elizabeth Bartowski, code name Frost."_

"_I happen to have a very romantic soul."_

* * *

Packard lay back on a bed that didn't belong to him, bored. Frost had returned to Moscow days ago, leaving him and his team to look into the deaths of Christoph and the others on their own.

They weren't good on their own.

They tended to break things, which, honestly, is what they were trained to do, not all this detective crap. They weren't a proper cleaner team, being much better at leaving messes behind them. Not that that was a bad thing. All it had taken was one false bottom to set his men to looking for others, where 'looking' was rather loosely defined. Mainly T.I. smashed things and moved the broken bits around with his booted feet. Mac was more fastidious, but he was also slower.

Packard swung out of bed, stepping on the false bottom that was the cause of it all, enjoying the crunch of snapping wood. Idly, he kicked one of the pieces, just because he could. Several pieces moved as a unit.

That wasn't right. He reached down and picked up the fragment, lifting several shards at once, as they were all held together by something on the bottom. A piece of heavy duty tape layered over a piece of paper, paper with a set of numbers in a line. Like a set of coordinates without all the other symbols, one of several different possible sets.

He didn't need his phone app to tell him that one possible location was somewhere in Europe, but he pulled it out anyway to get a more precise fix. Somewhere in England.

* * *

"Roses or orchids? Those are my choices?" asked Ellie, stirring her coffee. "Am I the second opinion or the third? I don't even know this woman."

"Second," said Sarah, sitting opposite. "Hannah's a lot more like you than like me, in some ways. I have no problem being the main point of contact but _you're_ the best wedding planner I know."

"What about Casey? He did a good job on _my_ wedding…" For a second, Ellie's eyes glazed over, remembering the sight of her groom, the feel of the sand under her feet, the sound and smell of the ocean.

"On Chuck's orders. Plus begonias weren't on Hannah's list."

"But they were so pretty! _You_ liked them, didn't you?"

Sarah shrugged._ Not my wedding._ "If it isn't a gardenia, I don't have an opinion." She stroked a large petal from Chuck's latest delivery.

Ellie took a sip and nodded. "Understandable, you being a spy and all…"

Sarah stopped stroking. She looked from Ellie to flower as if one of them was a double-agent. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ellie's eyes got wide. "You mean you don't know about the symbolism of flowers?"

_Why on Earth would I? _"I…know that if Chuck sends me something that isn't a gardenia, he's mad at me," said Sarah. "I knew that if Bryce sent roses when I was expecting lilies, or whatever our code was for that mission, my cover was blown and I had to get the hell out."

"Oh my God…"

"Ellie?"

"The gardenia is the symbol of hidden love, like…" Ellie's hands fluttered in the air as she sought the perfect metaphor. "Like Romeo-and-Juliet style love. Chuck knew that. I always wondered why he sent you gardenias when you were already his girlfriend. I didn't get it until they told me about you, but it never occurred to me that you didn't know."

Sarah shook her head. "There was no agenda there, Ellie. Chuck knew that I liked gardenias the way he knew I didn't like olives, by watching everything I did and taking notes." Sarah looked smug at her husband's prowess, even then, while Ellie looked appalled at the lengths he'd had to go to, no matter how good he was at it. "My father didn't use them in any of his cons, and I like the smell." Not the most common flower, and its aroma made it even more memorable. Con artists don't want to be memorable.

Ellie sat back in her chair and frowned. "Poop."

"What?" said Sarah, fighting down an urge to laugh in her sister's face.

"Here I thought I was seeing this wonderful romantic story of secret protestations of love, sent under the very eyes of disapproving authorities," Ellie sulked, "And you didn't get it any more than Casey did."

The second pizza Chuck brought over didn't have olives. The second burger he brought over had all the extra pickles she could want. He only brought her the rose that one time, because Roan told him to. "I got the _message_, Ellie."

Ellie smiled–she still wanted the story, dammit–and raised her mug. "Here's to the message, then."

Sarah touched her mug to Ellie's gently.

Ellie continued, "Besides, it's not like my brother was ever very good at keeping his feelings hidden. The only person worse than him is you."

_Thunk!_ went the mug on the table, not at all gently. "You're kidding, right?"

Great, now she'd slandered Sarah's professional abilities. Ellie raised her hand placatingly. "Sarah, I know you're an agent–"

"Yes, I'm an agent, but every day we were together I knew I was crumbling. I could feel myself losing a little more, giving another little tiny iota of information to a human database," said Sarah, running her finger around the edge of her mug. "But Chuck? Chuck was a master! They're thinking of naming the technique after him at Langley."

"What technique?" said Ellie, confused.

Sarah slumped over the table. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get that one little piece of information from a subject when they won't shut up?"

* * *

John Casey sat at the bar, looking over Morgan's domain while Grimes wasn't around. The wait staff went around with their pitchers of water twenty percent less frequently than they used to. The bus boys were slower as well. His current Randomly Selected Patrons were mostly focused on each other, as they should be, but every now and then one of them would raise their eyes, suddenly aware of their surroundings. Not until the third such head's up did their server respond.

_Much better._

"Adding to your skill-set, Colonel?" said a woman from behind him. She'd been watching him for the last ten minutes and he'd been wishing she'd just make her move already.

His surveillance completed, he turned to face her. "You were at the bar that night."

Her real face was still a mask. "Just as an observer."

"Why?"

"I have a project."

Like that meant something. In Washington, everyone who was anyone had a 'project'. "I've got one of those already."

"I can see that. Muddling thyme for the greater good is a waste of your abilities, Colonel. If you ever want to trade up, give me a call." She flashed her ID at him. "Director Jane Bentley, NCS."

That caught his interest. "What's the objective?"

She smirked, knowing she had him hooked. "That's need to know, Colonel. You tell me if you need to know. Until then–" She stood up and handed him a plain manila envelope.

"What's this?" said Casey to her back, as she donned her coat.

She pivoted. "Call it a gesture of good faith. We've detected movement abroad that will impact you and your team, probably very soon." She ran a finger lightly along the edge of the envelope. "The men in these images have every reason to want you dead."

They can get in line. "And you're just giving them to me?"

"Of course not, Colonel. I'll be expecting your call, if you survive. Have a nice day."

* * *

His name was Mackintosh, and he was having a terrible day. He hated the woods. He hated pretty much anything that didn't come with a plug attached to it, left him feeling useless. Well, not useless, exactly, but not in a place where his special expertise made him more special than anyone else. In the woods they were all more or less equal, except for T.I., who looked like he could take on a tree and win.

He'd much rather have stayed in Christoph's apartment, which was nice and homey as long as you didn't look underneath the false bottoms of his chest of drawers. Which Packard had, and of course he'd brought the numbers to his good buddy and subordinate Mac for interpretation, and so it was his expertise with computers that directly led to them standing here in the middle of the night.

What was so special about this place, anyway? Some estate in the backwoods of England, no bandwidth, no throughput, no connectivity to any parts of the civilized world. The lady of the house rode a horse for fun! What a hole. At least the pubs were good. Good English beer, with good, dull English people endlessly nattering over the good English gossip. Everybody at the party heard the shots that night, but what mattered to Packard's team were the very few people who heard the shots the next morning. Not handguns, not at that distance.

"Found something."

Oh thank God!

Mac and Packard came to him from different directions, to find T.I. kneeling next to a fallen tree and searching under it like some kind of giant bear looking for…whatever bears looked under trees for. T.I. held up a shell casing, reflecting brightly even in the light of their low-intensity flashlights.

"Rifle?"

The giant man handed his boss the casing. "Sniper."

"Behind a tree?"

The tree fell as the brute rose. "I didn't say he was a _good_ sniper."

Packard wasn't buying it. He flashed his light on the ground, picking up matted plants and torn earth but little else. "If he was a bad one there'd be blood everywhere. Spread out. He had to come here for a reason, which means he came from somewhere else. Find that nest."

They all headed upslope, one left, one right, leaving Mac in the middle, not that he knew what he was looking for, which was why they'd left him in the middle. He stepped over a root and stopped, his nose working. Something smelled real bad. He looked down.

Ashes. A small circle of undergrowth had been charred black, and his foot had stirred up the ashes, allowing some of the burnt odor to escape. Mac knelt in the grass, looking more closely at this evidence of man, and found a mostly burnt cigar butt lying on the edge. He held it up, sniffing at it. He knew that smell, loathed it, they all did. All the long way to the stockade he'd been forced to endure the stink of Captain Casey's cigars, and all the long days afterward he'd hated it and him.

"Packard!"

* * *

Morgan shook the dice and threw them on the table. "We have gotta be the most crap communicators in the whole world."

Chuck watched the board carefully. For Morgan, moving tokens and talking at the same time could be problematic. "Uh, what do you mean, buddy?" he asked, scooping up the dice for his turn. "You, me and Devon here, or men in general?"

"Me and Alex," said Morgan, moving his cards for no reason. "I think I'm speaking English, but somehow the words coming out of my mouth are never the ones I want to say, and even then, she doesn't seem to hear them right either, even when they're wrong. Nobody's as bad as us."

"I don't know, bro, there's different kinds of bad, aren't there?" said Devon. "Just this morning Ellie yelled at me for talking to her stomach for an hour. She's going a little baby-crazy, and maybe I am too. That's pretty bad, right?" He looked at Chuck. "Twenty-four, bro."

"Pff," sneered Morgan, dismissing the question. "You guys have an excuse. Married and pregnant, you're allowed to look bad and have fights." He pulled at his tie, a vestige of his day at the office.

Both the men in his audience stopped and stared.

"Not if you want to _stay_ married, buddy," said Chuck.

"Chuck, I love you, man," said Morgan as Devon took his turn, "But you have got to be the world's most unqualified person to be giving me this kind of advice. Don't look at me like that, come on! What was your biggest problem between you and the missus this whole last year?"

Chuck started to open his mouth.

"I'll tell you what it was," said Morgan without pause. "It was you two being _too married_. That's right: Too. Married. All that trouble you had was you trying to be worthy of what you already had. You two lovers were so star-crossed I'm surprised you even needed to propose!" He went back to fiddling with his cards.

Chuck shut his mouth, looking shocked.

Only Devon noticed. "Dude?"

* * *

Casey snatched up his phone before the first ring finished. "What news, General?"

"I'm afraid the intel from Director Bentley is on target, Colonel Casey. An entire team has already made its way to American soil, and is nearing your location as we speak."

"Dammit," he growled into the phone. He thought, hoped, he'd have more time. He didn't want to put everybody on alert without some kind of proof. "I have to get the team together."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Colonel," said Beckman. "You'd better hurry, or you'll be late to your own party."

* * *

"You never proposed?"shrieked Morgan.

"Well, we were…panicked, we had…so I called my dad, and he…so we…and it was all very confusing." Chuck pressed his hands to his temples.

"Chuck, this is not good," said Morgan, shaking his head. "All this time I've been looking out for your Achilles Heel and here it is, right under our noses." Someone knocked on the door, three hard knocks. Morgan got up to answer it. "But don't worry , dude, we can fix this." He reached for the knob.

Chuck's phone started to beep, a strident pattern, the emergency code giving…_his own location!_ "Morgan, don't–!" he shouted, rising.

The door opened, revealing several armed men in full uniform standing ready. At the sight of Morgan, they all snapped to attention. "Buenas noches, Senor Grimes," said the leader, his voice rough and harsh. "Costa Gravas calls once more."

* * *

**A/N2 **Hope you like it. This episode is going to be a tough one.**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** Okay, so I'm rewatching Coup d'Etat for inspiration. As Chuck and Sarah walk into Devon's house, she has her hand behind her, holding her gun. When Ellie starts the video playing, Sarah turns around to watch. Do none of the soldiers behind her notice she's got this huge weapon stuck in her pants? In Cubic Zirconium, why would Panzer jump into a vent, to go back down into the middle of a riot and eventual capture, when the helicopter team was there to take him away?

* * *

"_Those are my choices?" _

"_What's the objective?" _

"_I'm surprised you even needed to propose!"_

"_You'd better hurry, or you'll be late to your own party."_

* * *

The avalanche sounded interested, but neutral. "In England?"

"Yes, Alexei," said Frost, equally neutral. "I left them in Germany, in Christoph's flat, but southwestern England was their most recent stationary location. They are currently in transit." Not back to Moscow.

Volkoff did not immediately respond to that information. He got out a small glass and a bottle.

Frost didn't shift her position as he poured. He didn't offer her any. He drank rarely, she drank never. _Vodka. Must be serious._

"Tell me, Frost, how much faith you have in this team of yours."

Packard and his men were dead, they just hadn't stopped breathing yet. "They aren't in my sight, so… None, sir. They're the worst sort of mercenary, they betrayed their country and their oaths for profit. The only things they haven't yet betrayed are each other, and I expect that's just a matter of time."

"Why do you think they betrayed me?"

Because Christoph had information she didn't have, and now never would. Information that sent them to England. _ John Casey had to have been there. _A perpetual flame to these three moths_._ "I don't believe they've burnt any bridges yet, but clearly they found something that mattered to them more than their fear of you, Alexei."

"Then we must re-educate them, Frost." Alexei tossed back his drink, and smiled as it burned its way down. "If they return."

Frost bowed her head. "Understood."

* * *

"I think you can slow down now," said Ellie.

Sarah pressed a bit harder on the accelerator, keenly aware of the layout of the road she was flying over, and especially how much of it lay between her and her husband. "I'm afraid we're just going to have to agree to disagree."

"He sounded the all-clear!" Not long after Chuck's emergency alert had gone off, another alert had sounded, a nicer one, with his prefix code.

"Your point being?"

"That fast cars and pregnant women don't mix."

Oh. She looked over at her passenger. "Sorry."

"_Don't look at me!_ Don't look at me," shrieked Ellie. "Don't be sorry. Just be…slower."

Sarah's phone beeped, and she reached for her pocket.

"Tell me you're not going to answer that."

"Of course not," said Sarah, pulling the phone out. "That was Hannah's text-tone anyway, so I figure I'll just let you deal with it." She dropped her phone in Ellie's lap.

"Me?" Ellie looked down, then back up at the road. It didn't seem to be whizzing by quite so fast now, so she forced her hand to release its grip on her seatbelt so she could look at the screen. "She's asking about the gown. She hasn't picked out the gown yet?"

"That's the easy part," said Sarah. "Castle has a holographic outfitter, she can just design the dress around everything else."

"Noo," moaned Ellie. "The dress comes first, the dress is the centerpiece. I can't believe we spent so much time on flowers without even knowing what the they had to match."

Sarah snorted. "I got married in a combat suit, with powder-burns on my hands." For her, Chuck was the centerpiece.

"You are _not_ normal," said Ellie, typing furiously.

The car was silent for a little while, the only sounds those of the road and the air moaning outside. Then Sarah mumbled, "I know that." She wiped at her face.

Ellie noticed the motion, since it took one of the driver's hands from the wheel. "Are you crying?"

"Of course not," said Sarah with a sniff. She reached out and turned the vent on and off again. "Just the wind in my eyes."

* * *

Casey pulled up in front of the house just a familiar figure started walking up to the door. He rolled the window down. "Alex, wait!"

His daughter turned at the sound of his voice, and did as he asked as he scrambled to get out of his car.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, positioning himself between her and the house.

She noticed, of course. The FBI training course was only polishing those skills. "What's going on, Dad?"

"Chuck's emergency signal went off," he said, skirting the truth just a bit. "This may not be a safe place to be right now."

"Morgan's in there!"

Not quite the effect he was hoping for. "And I'm gonna get him out of there, while you stay in my car where it's safe."

She looked around. Either they were really good and really quiet, or…"Where's your back-up?"

He looked anywhere but at her face. "On their way."

She reached into his jacket and took his favorite pistol. "Nope. I'm right here."

"Alex–!"

Behind him, the door opened. Casey spun, shielding Alex from the armed man in the doorway.

"Ah! The Angel de la Muerte! We meet at last."

Casey went for his holdout.

* * *

Sarah eyed the house slowly as they drove past and parked around the corner.

"So what do you think?" asked Ellie.

"No sentries I can see."

"No, you goof. I meant the cake!" Ellie held up the phone so Sarah could see the picture, but then she got a glimpse out the window and recognized her surroundings. "Oh. We're here."

"And you didn't notice." _Thank you, Hannah._ "Stay here and talk about cakes, I'm going in." She checked her gun.

Ellie tapped a quick goodnight and handed the phone back. "Like hell I will. That's my brother and my husband in there!"

Sarah sighed, and opened her door. "Like brother, like sister," she said as she got out of the car.

Ellie followed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Sarah, tucking her gun in the small of her back as she walked back to the house. "If you're not going to stay in the car you can at least stay behind me. Hey!"

Ellie ignored her and kept on going. "Hurry up, Sarah. I'm your cover. What could be more natural than a woman coming home from a girls' night out?"

With no other choice, Sarah followed, every sense alert. _Isn't that Casey's car?_ Then she noticed the dark stain on the front walk. "Ellie, stop!"

Ellie stopped and looked down at her feet as Sarah moved in front of her. "Oh my god…" The front door opened and she looked up.

Chuck smiled. "Sarah, you made it," he said, as if that wasn't the plan all along. He walked out into the open and hugged his wife.

Ellie watched his hands drop and verify the presence of the gun, but then he untucked her shirt, draping it over the gun. _What the Hell?_

Chuck winked at his sister. "Come on in, you two. We've been waiting." Arm in arm, the loving couple led the way into the house.

Inside, Ellie found a lot more people than she expected. Chuck, Devon, and Morgan, naturally, their game unfinished, not even put away, just sort of shoved to one side. Alex, but Casey too? The alert, of course.

Which probably explained all the men in the green uniforms?

"Sarah, Ellie, allow me to introduce Senor Juan Pablo Turrini–"

"Chief aide to Generalissimo Alejandro Fulgencio Goya," said Turrini, as if that explained everything. He gestured into the living room. "The Generalissimo has sent some wine, the People's wine, and a gift."

"I thought the wine was the gift," said Morgan, holding a glass of something dark and red. "Sorry about the front walk, Ellie."

"If I hadn't caught you, you'd've spilled that all over Alex," growled Casey, his wine untouched.

"If you hadn't tripped me I wouldn't have spilled it at all."

"I didn't _trip you_, moron, my foot just got in the way of your foot, that's all…"

Ellie shook her head. "You…mentioned a gift, Sr. Turrini. A gift for who? And why?"

Turrini held up a large silver disk. "The answer to all of your questions is here, Senora."

* * *

Morgan gaped in shock. "A weekend in the palace?" Morgan hated that medal. He didn't deserve it, and the presentation ceremony had almost been a disaster. They'd made him keep it, though, and after everything that happened he was mostly okay with it. If that Goya guy had just asked he'd have taken the vacation any day.

Turrini stiffened. "The People's palace."

Alex couldn't believe what she'd just seen. "Oh. My. God. A private jet–?" Private beaches. Luxurious private rooms. She turned and hugged Morgan tightly. Finally he was getting what he deserved!

"The People's jet," said Turrini.

Ellie turned to Devon, and clapped her hands. "Honey! Baby-moon!"

"The People's–" Turrini shook his head, and put a smile back on his face. "You are all welcome, of course. The friends and family of the heroic Senor Grimes could not find themselves in a better, safer, or more peaceful place in all the world."

Casey took a gulp of his wine, watching his daughter. "I'm coming too."

"Sarah, what do you think?" asked Chuck, grinning broadly. "We can put all those bikinis you bought to good use."

"All of them, Chuck?" Sarah shook her head. "I'll have to model them, and you'll have to choose."

Chuck's face went slack. "Choose?"

Casey whacked him on the back of the head, just to jump-start his brain. "You tell her she looks good in all of them, and then agree when she makes up her mind," he explained.

Turrini nodded, amused. "The wise man always defers to higher authority."

Heads rose all around.

* * *

With Turrini's men in the living room, and Morgan rewatching the video again, they were forced to stage an ordinary conference call from another room.

"I'm afraid not, Colonel," said Beckman. "A situation has a risen, that requires your specific presence, and that of your team." _Casey's_ team only as long as it took them to get away from Turrini.

Casey stiffened, but wasn't about to speak back to a senior officer.

Other people had no problem with that. "They've already accepted the invitation, General," said Chuck. "We can't just let our friends walk into a war zone unprepared."

Beckman sighed. "These aren't the 80s, Mr. Bartowski. It's not a war zone, unless you mean all the restaurant franchises that have started popping up down there. Costa Gravas is as stable as it's been in years. Your friends–and the Colonel's daughter–should be perfectly safe in their tropical paradise."

"We could send Carina with them," said Sarah suddenly. "We did sort of…_yank_ her away from that tropical paradise she was in, for that last mission." And she was none too happy about it, either.

"The opportunity is ideal," agreed Beckman.

Casey rumbled thoughtfully. "The only problem I can see is getting her in on it. Turrini's bound to get suspicious–"

From the other side of the door a shrill cry rang out. "Martin! The palace? I'm so jealous."

"You wanna come?"

Casey shrugged. "Or not."

* * *

Chuck and Sarah watched the plane rise into the air the next morning, just a little sad that they couldn't be with Morgan in his hour of triumph. Goya was not known for taking half-steps in anything he did, so Morgan's little tribute could turn out to be a full-blown national holiday before the weekend was out.

As they walked back to the car, Chuck asked, "You don't think Ellie was serious, do you?"

Sarah shrugged. "She's probably already started."

Chuck's face fell. "Poor Carina."

Sarah whacked him on the arm. "And whose fault is that? You're the one who called her Ellie's best friend."

"I had to say something," said Chuck, rubbing his arm. "Everybody in the room had a cover story except her. And besides, it's not like you told me Ellie was all obsessive about cakes all of a sudden."

Sarah snorted, then she gave in and started to laugh. "No, I didn't, did I? Poor Carina."

* * *

Chuck loved driving to work with Sarah. He loved stopping at the guard booth, he loved walking in the front door, especially when she had her arm linked with his and made a point of waving to everyone, even (and especially) the janitors.

No one looked at all surprised to see her there, with him, looking so happy. They were together, everyone knew it, and no one thought it was strange.

That was so cool. It wasn't _as_ cool at NSA headquarters, but that was only to be expected. Even the CIA's fairy-tale couple was still CIA, and they had appearances to uphold.

They outdid themselves today. The lady at reception, who'd known them for months, put them through every security verification they had, unsmiling, unapologetic. She made them wait as she summoned an escort, even though she knew they knew how to get to General Beckman's office. As they waited, Chuck noticed a greatly increased number of guards in the lobby. He and Sarah sat stiffly in the uncomfortable chairs, trapped in the grim atmosphere.

The escort made no sign he recognized them. "Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski, if you'll follow me." As he led them through the halls, none of the other NSA personnel they encountered even looked at them.

Not until they found themselves enclosed in an elevator did Chuck feel free to ask. "Mr. Clark–" not Bob, not today, "What's going on?"

For a second Bob Clark stared at the wall, as people usually do in elevators, but then he relented. "I may as well tell you, you'll find out soon enough. You'll have to, I guess." Even so, he paused, working up the nerve to speak. "Colonel Casey was shot and killed last night. He's dead!"

* * *

**A/N2 **Mostly dead, or all-the-way dead? That's the question.**  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **This story's just killing me. **  
**

* * *

"_I think you can slow down now." _

"_Where's your back-up?"_

"_Honey! Baby-moon!" _

"_Colonel Casey was shot and killed last night."_

* * *

A soft knock was her cue. "Come." General Beckman looked up as the door opened, her aide admitting her latest visitors, the only welcome ones of the day. "Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski, please come in. Thank you, Mr. Clark." Her assistant nodded and withdrew as the General's guests seated themselves.

Sarah came right to the point. "Is it true, General?"

Beckman nodded, her face grave. "Yes, Sarah, Chuck, I'm afraid it's true. Colonel Casey was intercepted and assassinated by a Costa Gravan hit squad last night as he left the home of a family friend. Neighbors reported shots fired–" she passed him several police reports, all of which presumably told variations on the same story "–and even though there were doctors present and the ambulance arrived very quickly, he was pronounced dead at the scene."

She passed a photo to Sarah, the body of John Casey, lying in a dark stain on the front walk. The blood, mercifully, looked like dark wine.

Sarah handed it back. "You said it was a Costa Gravan hit squad, ma'am?"

"Indeed. We were informed by another agency that Premier Goya's right hand man, Juan Pablo Turrini, was making an unannounced trip to the US. He spent the night at the embassy, which proves nothing. Fibers consistent with a Costa Gravan uniform were found on a thorn bush at the corner of the property, and several casings were recovered, consistent with the weapons known to be used by their military. He and his entire entourage have been PNG'd and went back to Costa Gravas this morning." She collected the documents from Chuck and closed the file on the whole affair. "Or at least that's the scuttlebutt."

Chuck smiled. "Congratulations on your death, Colonel," he said to the phone on the desk.

"This had better work, Bartowski," said the speaker, sounding a lot like Casey. "I can't use my Netflix account until this is over."

Chuck shrugged. "It worked for Goya, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it did, but I was the shooter then."

"So Turrini isn't allowed to have fun fake-assassinating you?" The speaker made a negative-sounding grunt as Chuck rambled on. "He did seem to enjoy it. I know, maybe we should have a war where everyone shoots blanks, just to let you guys get it out of your systems."

The speaker ignored him. "Any sanctions, ma'am?"

"A stiffly worded note. You're only a Colonel."

The speaker grumbled again as Chuck asked, "When's the funeral?"

"We arranged it for tomorrow afternoon, to make sure Packard and his team have a chance to hear the news and respond as we expect. They arrived yesterday afternoon, but with the saturation coverage of this brazen assault, they should catch up on current events quickly." She handed them their notices.

"'Cremation to follow'?" asked Chuck. That wasn't part of his plan.

"We have to force them to move while my hand is still a hand, numb-nuts."

Grave robbing? _Ew._"Good thinking. Sorry about Arlington, though."

More grumbling, sounding a lot like "Better luck next time."

"You know, Casey, you're the only man I've ever met who's ever looked forward to being buried," said Sarah.

"It's not the burial," said Casey. "It's the place, the honor. Every man should live his life so that his death will be a tragic loss."

She thought of Alex for a second as Chuck gave her hand a squeeze. _Her_ death would be a tragic loss now, too. It wouldn't have been, once. "Mission accomplished," she said as much to herself as the man on the other end of the line.

"Don't say things like that, Bartowski! I'm not dead _yet._"

* * *

Packard leaned over the back of the chair and stared at the screen, as if he would understand anything on it. "Is he really dead?"

"Absolutely," said Mackintosh. "A hostile foreign government, two rival agencies, local police and an unaffiliated medical team." He waved his hands vaguely over the paper trail, as if it would conjure up the spirit of Casey. "It's a perfect storm."

Packard pushed hard against the chair. "I hate that cliché." He gestured at the screen. "You know they could have cooked this up with that other agency."

"I'd believe the hostile foreign government first," said Mac. "Agencies in this town do not play ball with each other."

The selfish explanation was the right explanation, as far as Packard was concerned. "Costa Gravas isn't gonna play ball, either, not if it's Casey. You remember that time we were in Havana, selling him those fake nukes? I heard Casey was waiting in the walls in Goya's palace to kill him, the entire time." Both men had a good laugh over that.

"Where's T.I.?" A man that big was hard to miss.

"Out lifting logs," said Mac dismissively. The city was _his_ element.

Information gathering the old-fashioned way. Packard didn't appreciate being hooked into Volkoff until he wasn't. "You keep that up he'll kill you, and I'll laugh at that too. You got the details on the funeral?"

"Of course." After a goodly bit of head-banging. Whoever put the lid on that information knew what he was doing. "They're trying to keep it hush-hush, in case any of the Colonel's old enemies should show up and make a scene."

"At a funeral?" asked Packard. "That would be just plain rude." He went away to be clever with some C4.

* * *

On the road to Langley, and the Intersect.

"I've got to say, this is a refreshing change."

Sarah felt a lot of things, but refreshed wasn't one of them. "How so?"

"One step ahead of the bad guys, for once, instead of winging it and succeeding by the skin of our collective teeth? A mission where we're the trap-layers, instead of the trap-layees? Sign me up for more of that."

_Over my dead body! _warred with _You'll jinx it!_, so her mouth took advantage of her distraction and started speaking before she could stop it. "Chuck, about the funeral–" _No, no, no! _Sarah wished she had some of that tetrodotoxin for her own vocal cords, but it was too late now.

He couldn't have forgotten something, could he? "Is there a problem, Sarah?"

She shook her head. "No, I-I just wanted to say–" she made a sudden lane change, to give herself time to think of something she wanted to say that wasn't what she wanted to say. "I just wanted to say how proud I am of you, for creating this whole plan, and implementing it as smoothly and flawlessly as you have so far. I know we haven't reached the endgame yet, but I can't think of anyone who could have gotten Casey and Turrini to play nice when it counted." She took a deep breath. That sounded natural and unrehearsed.

"Liar." Chuck smiled at her gasp. "What you really wanted to say was 'stay in the hearse, Chuck.' You know I can't do that, Sarah."

Busted. "I know," she said unhappily. He was _that _guy, but she was that guy's wife, the hardest job she'd ever had. "With Carina gone and Casey playing dead, we need you on site." Now that _did_ sound rehearsed, and very unnatural.

"And I'll have a full set of body armor on, and I think I could give the Intersect lessons in how to duck." He ran his hand over her hair. "I love you, and I would never want to cause you needless worry." He sighed. "The needed kind is bad enough."

"I can deal with it, as long as it's needed," growled Sarah.

_Of course it's needed. _"It's Casey," said Chuck.

"I was hoping you'd say that." The car sped up again.

* * *

"Allow me to introduce my wife–" with his usual flamboyance, the Generalissimo spun and indicated a woman in a low-cut red dress as she approached. "The light of Costa Gravas, the woman behind the man. Señora Hortencia de la Corazon Goya." Everyone applauded politely as she pretended to be honored.

"Welcome to Costa Gravas, Señor Grimes," said the skank. First Lady? What do you call the wife of a dictator, especially when she was dressed like that and flaunting herself in front of your man.

Morgan took her hand, brushed a kiss on the back. "Thank you, Madame Goya."

_Madame! _ That's a good word. Alex stepped forward and claimed Morgan's arm for herself as he stepped back.

"I apologize in advance if my husband should steal any of your women," said the skank–_First_ Skank, Alex reminded herself. The guys with the guns work for her husband.

As everyone laughed politely, Morgan covered Alex' hand with his own. "I'll keep a firm grip."

* * *

She was tall, blonde, and beautiful. She could outfight and outshoot anyone in the building, and they all knew it. At the sound of her confident stride approaching, men and women alike stood to one side, wishing they could be her, or be with her. Really, they were lucky she was gracing them with her presence in this dull and drab corner of the building.

Greta turned the corner and spotted her mark, tall and dark-haired, easy prey for her feminine–

The geek smiled, but not at her. He hadn't even noticed her. At the other blonde in the hall. Who was smiling back, with eyes only for him. "I'll contact you as soon as I have anything new to report, Sarah."

Greta caught herself against the wall and pushed back out of sight as her rival turned. Sarah freaking Walker? _No way! _Footsteps approaching rapidly, Greta looked for–a water fountain! I'm saved!

Sarah rounded the corner, her situational awareness taking in Greta's presence and dismissing it at the same time.

Greta watched her go, water spilling gracelessly down the drain as she considered her options. Only one thing to do, really. She was going to have a few words with Mr. Montgomery.

* * *

Sarah continued walking, a destination in mind but in no hurry to get there. Most likely she wouldn't have to.

"Agent Bartowski," said someone genially from behind her in the cross-hall. "Good morning."

She turned, already smiling. "Good morning, Muffin."

* * *

"You set me up!"

Roan kept his calm façade with some effort. "You seem vexed, my dear."

Greta leaned over his desk. "If I'd been three seconds faster I'd _seem _like roadkill! The last person who got her husband in trouble hid in a locked cell for a week! She broke the building!" Greta pushed off the desk and whirled around, looking for something to hit in the instructor's office that wasn't the instructor.

Roan took out his notebook, and made an entry. "A valid point." He put the notebook away and stood, looking at her mildly. "In my defense, I would like to say that when I made the assignment she was involved in an operation in England. It never occurred to me she'd bring him along. And, for the record, it was only about _three_ days."

She wasn't about to mollified by an apology, no matter how sultry and mellifluous the tones in which it was delivered. "I demand a retest!"

He nodded. It was a fair request. "And you shall have it, if you so desire. Or as an alternative, I'd be very willing to recommend you for a little operation that has come to my attention. I will also make a list of invalid test subjects and put Mr. Bartowski's name at the top of it. I've never seen a more unseduceable man." He pulled out a piece of paper and started writing.

"You're passing me?"

"Not exactly." He pinned the paper up on his board. "Think of it more as a clerical error in your favor. If you and the other Greta I'm sending find favor with Director Bentley, then you will find favor with me. Otherwise, see you next term."

* * *

"Upload complete," said Manoosh's voice over the speaker. "How you feeling, Chuck?"

"Ellie, your voice has changed."

Manoosh laughed. "She'll kill me if I don't at least ask."

"You have the scanner on, right?" Chuck started typing, a stack of dailies waiting but a higher priority in the queue right now. He didn't really care about the answer since he already knew the answer.

"Gotta have my fix."

"Well, then you know how I'm doing better than I do." _There we go_. An old black and white photo, some newspaper clipping from the bad old days. Three men, wanted fugitives, more importantly the enemies of his friend and therefore his enemies as well. He'd know everything there was to know about them before the day was out.

Chuck flashed.

* * *

"We'll be there," said Muffin.

"I know he'll appreciate it." Sarah's watch started beeping, long and shrill.

"You know, once a jani–" But Muffin was talking to air.

Roan Montgomery's office door opened, and Greta stepped through. She turned and offered Instructor Montgomery her hand. "I won't let you–"

Something tall and blonde slammed into her in passing. She smacked into the door jamb and fell unconscious into her mentor's arms.

Sarah didn't notice. She had someplace to be, and it wasn't where she was.

* * *

Manoosh had the door pegged open, because he was smart.

"What?" she shouted, a bit loud without the door's _thump_ to take the edge off.

"I don't know," he replied, a bit high-strung himself. He pointed at the exploding Christmas ball that was the scanner at that moment. "He just started spiking, I have no idea what's going on."

"Did he say anything, or write anything?"

Manoosh went to the desk, and turned the monitor around. "Just this." On the screen was a blinking cursor, next to a single capital 'F'.

She pressed the button on the intercom. "Chuck, speak to me."

Silence.

She looked to Manoosh. "Where is he?"

Thermal scan showed a man sitting in the only chair the room had. "He hasn't moved."

"Do the download," she commanded. "I need to get in there." The door wouldn't open while he had the Intersect.

Manoosh had been well conditioned by Ellie. "Download commencing."

Sarah went back to the intercom. "Chuck, look up!" Just in case.

Sarah pushed through the door the second the light turned green. Chuck sat in front of the main screen, his fingers idle on the keyboard, his gaze downcast. Sarah lifted his head, forced him to look at her, see her. "Chuck, what happened?"

"It's too late." He tried to look down.

Not. "What's too late, Chuck?"

"The download," he said, as if it were obvious. "You took the Intersect away, but nothing can take the knowledge away. It's too late, I've already seen it."

Sarah looked at the screen, the grainy photo of three grainy men. "What have you seen? Tell me, Chuck."

"Those men. Packard and his crew," said Chuck, his voice flat. "They're murderers, thieves. They're part of a secret prison system run within Volkoff, where his enemies just disappear." He reached out a finger and touched the 'F' on his screen. "They work for my mother."

* * *

**A/N2 **It took me forever to figure out where this story was going. Greta had to yell at me. Came up a little short of where I'd expected to be, which is all to the good.**  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **This is a long one. This episode is a combination of at least three canon episodes, so I have more work to do tying off all the threads, or setting up new ones in the future.

* * *

"_Is it true, General?"_

"_That would be just plain rude."_

"_You seem vexed, my dear."_

"_They work for my mother."_

* * *

"Frost is alive?"

"Yes, General," said Chuck. "And apparently very, very rogue." He couldn't look at the screen anymore, couldn't look at them looking at him. The floor was a nice color.

"I don't believe it," said Casey. "Frost is no traitor, she can't be."

"Since when do you know my mother?" snapped Chuck. _He_ didn't even know his mother, it seemed.

"You know a commander by his troops, and a craftsman by his product," said Casey to the top of Chuck's head, the only part of him he could see. "You and Ellie are the product. I've never met your mother but I already know her pretty damn well."

Sarah gave her husband's shoulders a squeeze, while mouthing _Thank you_ to her partner.

The gloom started to lift, but Chuck resolutely pulled it back down. "Well, thank you for that vote of confidence, Casey, but I saw it with my very own Intersect."

Casey made a rude noise. "Give it a rest, Bartowski. How many times in the bad old days did you send us haring off on some wild goose chase because you 'saw something in the Intersect' that you didn't understand and got completely wrong?"

"Not 'completely wrong', Colonel," said Beckman. "Those wild goose chases often turned into your greatest successes." She sighed, looking up. "And my greyest hairs."

"Wrong enough, General, and Chuck can't help but be compromised now." Not his fault. "So if it's his Intersect versus mine, I'll take mine."

"You have an Intersect, Casey?" asked Sarah.

"It's called common sense, Bartowski. It's not as flashy, but it gets the job done."

"For all our sakes I hope you're right, Colonel," said Beckman. "Personal issues to one side, the idea that we might be facing not just Volkoff, but Volkoff with an agent of Frost's caliber on his side, is truly frightening. Manoosh?"

"Yes, General?"

"I imagine there will be no more uploads today?"

Ellie would skin him, and dip him in brine. "No, General. Given Chuck's–the Host's–emotional state…"

"I understand." _Damn you, Frost._ "The capture of Packard and his men is now more imperative than ever. We must know everything we can about Frost's relationship with Volkoff. Chuck, it's your plan, make it happen." He nodded, still not looking up. Beckman looked at Sarah. "We're counting on you."

* * *

The tall blonde entered the office and saluted. "Captain Victoria Dunwoody, reporting."

The tall brunette stood and saluted back. "Director Jane Bentley, NCS. What happened to you, Captain? I heard you were in Inducement training."

Dunwoody touched her cheek, gently. Her blackened eyes were still puffy and her nose swollen where it had broken against the door jamb. "I was assigned…Agent Walker's husband as part of my final test. She was supposed to be in England." As good a story as any, and better than the truth.

Bentley nodded. "Marriage has mellowed her. Walker destroyed a van and half of Langley the last time."

Dunwoody grit her teeth. Walker was the villain in her cover story. _She's not _that_ badass. _"Just a few doors, ma'am."

"Whatever. The point is, I don't need mellow agents here. Do you understand?"

She smiled. _My turn, Walker. _"I understand perfectly, ma'am."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" said Sarah as they headed for their car. With no uploads in the offing, Chuck pretty much had nothing to do there, and Sarah, well, she had her marching orders already.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Yes, and I can't say I like it. You look like me." Like a spy. Like nothing could hurt him because nothing could be allowed to hurt him. The open book she'd fallen for was closed.

"Oh, you mean you just found out your mother's a bad guy too?" He clicked the button on his fob and opened his door before he noticed she wasn't on the other side of the car. He looked back. "Sarah?"

His wife wasn't there. Someone else was. "Don't ask about my mother, Chuck."

Did he look like that? _Tell me I didn't do that to her, please. _He knew he had, though, and he knew how. While flailing about in his own misery he'd stuck his foot right into hers, whatever it was. "I'm sorry." Could any search, any resolution be worth this?

Her frozen face thawed. "Don't be."She walked up and stroked his cheek. "It's not like I've told you everything there is to tell about my family. I can't."

No secrets, no lies. She would tell him, if he asked, but he wouldn't ask. "But I should be sorry, Sarah," he said, catching her trailing fingers in his own. "I've let my search for the person who left me bring pain to all the people who would never leave me."

"It doesn't matter." She tugged on his hand, pulling him in closer, and kissed him. "We're family, Chuck. Your pain is our pain."

"Not anymore," he said, holding her tightly. "When Dad sent us that message, I really hoped to find my mother again. But now I'm not afraid _for_ my mother, I'm afraid _of_ her, and what I'll see if I ever do find her. That's my pain now, and there's a simple way to end it."

Sarah pulled back. "Is my man running away?" As he started to fumble out a reply she overrode him. "Because that's what that sounded like." She started jabbing him with her sharp, sharp nails. "End the search–" _Ow! _"Close your eyes–" _Ow! _"Bury your head in the sand, but believe you me, Mr. Bartowski, I've had my fill of ostrich, thanks to Carina." She stopped pushing, her victim, that is, her husband pinned against their car. She grabbed his hair and kissed him again, passionately, violently. He looked dazed when she finished. "I don't want a Chuck that would try to spare me pain, I want the Chuck that I would take all the pain in the world for."

Chuck stared at his wife, panting, smiling.

"We have to finish what we started, sweetie, otherwise it'll just fester. Don't let the past poison our future."

With a sudden move he flipped them around, pinning her against the vehicle. He captured her gaze and leaned in close. "The names Bartowski. Charles Bartowski," he said in a bad Scottish accent.

Sarah smiled in sudden recognition. "There you are!" She held up the car keys she'd lifted from him with consummate skill while he was distracted. "Now, I'll drive. You have work to do, rethinking your devious plot."

* * *

Morgan stepped out of the shower, and immediately wondered why he'd bothered taking it in the first place. He'd thought DC in August was bad! Maybe he should just wear the towel.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Hold on," he said, running for his suitcase. With frantic speed he threw on whatever tops and bottoms fell into his hands first. "Coming!"

He pulled the door open and there was Alex…and only Alex. Whoever she'd hired to put that bikini on her had really skimped on the paint. He lowered his eyes. At least the very thin wrap on her hips was cloth. Very…thin…Eyes! Look at her eyes.

"Hey Morgan," she said, drawing out the syllables of his name in the way that drove him wildest. "Oo, I like the shirt." She stepped closer and reached her hands into the loose sleeves. "I can reach under it so easily."

Morgan threw himself backward, and not just because she was tickling him. "Alex, don't. What if Casey finds out?"

Alex…flowed into the room after him. "My father is thousands of miles away, Morgan. But right down that trail there's a private beach." He didn't look where she was pointing, mesmerized. "For private showings." When he didn't move she lowered her hand to the knot in her wrap. "Or perhaps you'd like it here instead."

A private showing in his private room. _BeAGentlemanBeAGentlemanCaseyWillKillYouBeAGentleman._ He swallowed and nodded. `"Beach is fine."

* * *

The miles flew by, Sarah driving while Chuck was on the phone. "That sounds like a plan, buddy." A bad plan. "Just make sure that however you do it, Alex is there and knows what's going on. Yeah, you're welcome. Have fun for me." He ended the call. "He was just so grateful to Carina for warning him to take the proper wardrobe." Also Alex' wardrobe, which was a lot skimpier than usual, but somehow Chuck didn't think Sarah wanted to hear about that. "He wanted to thank her." A double helping of Morgan gratitude and Carina in a sarong…

"That could have gotten awkward."

Still could. This was Morgan, after all, and his obsessive over-planning, a bad habit he'd picked up from somewhere. "Even more awkward than watching Casey try to put on his old Marine uniform." Chuck winced at the memory.

"If it's that tight maybe we can do without the paralyzing drug."

Chuck grunted out a laugh. "Um, no. But…hmmm…paralyzing drugs. That gives me an idea."

* * *

Packard couldn't believe it. "You _what_?"

Mack grinned as he scarfed down another slice of pizza. "I released the funeral arrangements on all the back-channels. We can't be the only ones who want to see the Colonel dead."

* * *

Sarah answered her phone. "Yes, General?...Out of breath?...Yes, I guess so, I was outside and didn't have my phone…Chuck's plan? We emailed the revisions to you a while ago…Did you check your spam filter?...Oh, good. Yes we'll be glad to go over it with you. Absolutely. You're welcome." She put the phone down without a goodbye and rolled over in the bed. "Meeting in half an hour."

Chuck smiled. "I can work with that."

* * *

"Mr. Bartowski, we've gone over this before. You are not an agent."

"I know, General."

"Yet your revisions make you not only present, but the centerpiece of the operation."

"He has to be, General," said Sarah. "It's always harder to capture than to kill. Only the Intersect can do what needs to be done, if Chuck's plan is to succeed."

"In spite of the danger?"

Possible harm to his body versus guaranteed harm to his heart and soul? "Absolutely."

Chuck took his wife's hand. "We're committed, General. Anything else puts Casey at unacceptable risk."

The Colonel stood a little straighter, but kept his peace.

Beckman nodded. "You've really thought this through. You're willing to put your teammates in harm's way, and you're willing to put yourself at risk to protect them. I'm impressed, Chuck." She flashed a quick glance at all the windows. "The mission is a go."

* * *

Chuck was assembling his body armor when the phone rang. Sarah kept going, making note of all the pieces she needed to add, as Chuck answered it. "Morgan! Hi, how's the fiesta?...A statue? Get out!...Really, seven feet tall and solid marble, that's…"

Sarah stopped to listen.

"I knew you had it in you…no, that was just surprise, that's all, marble takes a long time to…Of course I want a picture..Morgan, I can't hear you, is that cheering?"

It didn't sound like cheering, too high and shrill. Another sound, loud and low, cut through the noise like a saw blade, and the screaming returned louder than before.

"Is that gunfire, Morgan? Morgan?"

* * *

The day of the funeral dawned cloudy and grey, the skies themselves threatening to weep at the passing of a great man. Which would have mattered if the funeral were being held in the morning, but it wasn't. The early afternoon was both bright and sunny, and the line of mourners moved rapidly, filling up the church.

"Who are all those guys?" said Packard, looking the line over from a few blocks away.

"I only recognize about half of them, but it's a pretty bad half."

"I can't tell the mooks from the agents," said T.I.

"That's good," said Mack. "That means they can't either. We slip in and by the time they know anything's wrong we'll be gone again."

Packard nodded. "The mission is a go, gentlemen. Let's go get our gold."

* * *

Chuck held up the hypo. "Here you go, Casey. The back-up hypo is going right here." Into a specially sewn pocket by his hand, where a partially-paralyzed Casey could reach it and re-inject himself if necessary.

A young lady came up to the casket. "Agent Bartowski?"

Chuck looked at her. "Agent Swanson, good afternoon." He held out a hand.

She took it. "You remember me, I'm flattered."

"One of my few pleasant memories of the NSA," said Chuck. Then he whispered, "Actually, more than a few, but I can't really say that in case someone else from the CIA side of the aisle should overhear." Casey kept his eyes closed, but Chuck could see them rolling anyway. "You must be looking for my wife, though. She's the agent, not me."

"You'll do, Mr. Bartowski. General Beckman told me to let you know that the situation in Costa Gravas isn't as desperate as we'd feared. The insurgents hold the palace but the premier and his guests have managed to escape into the jungle. No Americans appear to have been taken hostage yet."

Casey opened his eyes, but Agent Swanson had her back to him and didn't notice.

Chuck noticed. "Yes, uh, thank you, Agent Swanson, that's very good news. Keep me in the loop."

"Sure thing, Mr. Bartowski." She walked away.

Chuck looked into Casey's eyes, the only part of him that could move. "We couldn't tell you, Colonel. I'm sorry. Adrenaline neutralizes the paralytic, and you need to be paralyzed for the plan to work. You have to stay calm." He checked his watch–a few minutes early–and raised it to his mouth. "Let's get started.'

* * *

Chuck sat in the front row, his seat the only one left open on that side, while the other pew sat empty. As the service commenced, mourners continued to make their way up to the coffin to pay their last…whatevers. Casey watched through slitted eyes as Mack came into view.

"Ow!" Chuck winced. "Did that guy just stab him with a pin?"

The pain almost made Casey open his eyes, but the toxin did what the toxin was supposed to do. He didn't even grunt.

A few minutes later, Casey heard a familiar voice. "Here you go, Colonel. One last cigar." Casey prepared himself for the worst, and got it, as T.I. pushed the glowing end of a lit cigar against his wrist.

Chuck cringed, and Sarah gripped his hand tightly. Almost done.

As T.I. walked away, he didn't see Casey take a deeper breath, his arms flexing. His fingers were still too numb to be much use, but his larger muscles were responding.

More footsteps, and someone laid something across his chest. Casey recognized the scent. A lily, one of Packard's favorite jokes. The casket started to shake, as the man above him made little wheezing sounds. _Little weasel better not be crying._

No, the bastard was laughing.

* * *

Packard turned, pulling a gun in one hand and his little surprise in the other. As expected, the room was full of agents, but the thugs in the room would make quick work of–

No one moved. No chaos erupted. A room full of felons and they all just sat there as the agents took aim at him. "Did you really think we'd come to Casey's funeral unprepared?" he shouted.

Mack and T.I. rose, the Feds moving to acquire their new targets, but even that didn't inspire any of the chaos Packard needed for his plan to succeed.

"You're all under arrest," said Sarah.

"You should have stayed with Frost," said Chuck.

"That bitch. Always kept us sidelined." Packard smirked. "I think we'll let Volkoff go down with that ship alone."

"You've got nowhere to go."

"Wanna bet?" said Packard, brandishing his other weapon, a detonator of his own making.

Chuck–the Intersect–fired.

"Aah!" Packard clutched at his arm, the little tranq dart imbedded in the crook of his elbow. His hand numbing, head swimming, he struggled to get his thumb to the trigger.

At the back of the church several flash-bangs detonated, full of sound and fury.

Chuck ignored them, already turning his sights on Mack, and firing again. The agents surrounding T.I weren't as lucky. Given how many surrounded him, it was virtually certain some would be facing the wrong way, and some were. He was surprisingly quick to take advantage of their incapacity, hauling one into Chuck's line of fire as he fired another dart, and using another as a human shield to the altar.

"Hold fire!" said Sarah.

"Yeah," said T.I. mockingly. "You might hit _me_. You, pick that up." He indicated the detonator with his foot.

"Yes, sir," said Kimberly, exactly as the book said she should do in a hostage situation, and she crouched to pick it up, her captor crouching behind her.

Casey heard her voice, her fear. So young to his ears, just like Alex. He reached through the drugs for his angry center.

When they were upright once again, T.I. hooked his elbow around Agent Swanson's neck, hand open. "Give." She put the device in his hand and he put his thumb on the second trigger."You don't follow me, and this'll all be over."

"We can't let you go back to Frost," said Chuck.

T.I. laughed. "I don't want to, that bitch is poison. I've got other plans for my gold." He raised the detonator.

"Chuck!" yelled Sarah.

Chuck took aim, and so did T.I.

Casey rolled over, second syringe in hand. The needle plunged into the traitor's back. Casey's hand pressed on the plunger as the casket tipped over, delivering a dose of paralyzer, right over his spine. Not much under normal circumstances, but these were far from normal.

T.I. couldn't pull the trigger. When Agent Swanson pushed out of his choke hold, he couldn't even hold on to the detonator.

* * *

Beckman was less than pleased with the outcome. "Mr. Bartowski, the CIA doesn't have the money budgeted for repairing church floors."

Chuck's couch was crowded today. Casey was still a bit wobbly and they insisted he stay with them until he fully recovered. "I know where they can get several million in gold bullion, General." He held up his hand. "That should cover it."

Beckman looked somewhat mollified at the idea. "We'll take that under advisement, Colonel. At least none of the 'borrowed ' convicts escaped. In fact, several of them thanked us for the show."

Chuck shrugged. "Prison life can be pretty dull. I figured we'd get some willing to be partially paralyzed in exchange for the privilege of seeing Casey dead, I just didn't expect that many."

Casey smiled.

"It was a good touch, though," said Sarah. "Really sold the con."

"Moving on," said the General, "The intel on Frost is welcome but inconclusive. More concrete data is needed than the words of three disgruntled traitors, but another team will have to be assigned to that mission."

Casey jumped into that opportunity. "Permission to deploy to Costa Gravas, ma'am?"

"Absolutely not, Colonel. None of you are uncompromised, and none of you are field-ready at this time. The situation in Costa Gravas is also still very fluid. Trained diplomats are en route help contain the situation. We'll keep you apprised." The screen went black.

Casey grunted his displeasure. Or he might have said, "Great." It was hard to tell.

The front door opened and Morgan strolled in as if he owned the place, pulling Alex along behind him. "There they are, I told you they'd be here." He looked at them all, dressed in black. "Hey, who died?"

Ellie and Devon were hand-in-hand, white-knuckled, their smiles a little forced. Carina brought up the rear, shaking her head with a smile.

Chuck launched himself from the couch, swept Ellie into an embrace. "Guys, you're here! What happened to you? How'd you escape?"

_Group hug. _"Escape?" said Devon. "They gave us an escort, bro."

Sarah was a little bit slower, but she still got her hugs. "We heard you were in the jungle, fighting insurgents."

"I hate insurgents," said Casey, standing. He and Alex did a little hugging thing of their own, while Morgan orbited from a safe distance.

"Carina and Alex were wonderful," said Ellie. Chuck led his pregnant sister over to the couch, and hustled to the kitchen for whatever refreshments he could rustle up. Devon sat with his wife, while Carina threw herself into a chair with her usual abandon. "Soldiers everywhere, but they saved us all, and the General took us out of the palace with him."

Casey almost smiled, but there were people around.

"Not that it helped," said Carina. "Goya's protective detail were all in on it, handed us right over."

Casey hated traitors even more than the usual brand of insurgents. "How'd you get loose?"

Carina waved a hand in front of her, disclaiming all responsibility, and pointed elsewhere.

Alex smiled and tightened her grip on Morgan's arm. "He was so wonderful. He quelled a revolution with a paperback and a breath mint."

"A paperback?" asked Chuck, coming back in with whatever coffee they had ready, with more brewing.

"A breath mint?" said Sarah, bringing a chair over from the dining area.

Alex waved a hand in front of her nose. "Most people are hesitant to speak truth to power." She sat in the last chair, with Morgan perched on the arm.

"That must have been some book, buddy. What was it?"

Morgan blushed. Alex replied, "101 Conversations Before I Do. We were practicing."

Practicing what? "I do?" said Casey.

Morgan paled. "_Before_ 'I do', big guy, before. Long before. Years before."

Casey grunted, giving his daughter an 'I told you so' sort of look. "Truth to power, huh?"

"Truth to power is one thing, Casey," put in Carina. "Truth to girlfriend's father, totally different."

That got a laugh, but Ellie only smiled. Chuck noticed, but at that moment his coffee machine beeped, so he got up again.

Carina followed him into the kitchen. "What's up?" asked Chuck, knowing how much she hated being in such domestic surroundings.

She reached into her bag. "I brought you some souvenirs." She handed him two necklaces.

Chuck flashed. Not necklaces. "Costa Gravas is nuclear?"

Carina made frantic shushing gestures. "Was." She gestured to the living room where they were all recounting their adventure in detail. "They didn't know. Well, maybe Alex but not the others and I didn't want to tell them."

"How'd you get these?"

"Morgan really is quite eloquent, in his own way. Once Goya and Goyette got all kissy-face no one even looked at _me_."

Chuck grinned at her. "So you single-handedly disarmed a nuclear nation?"

Carina blushed. "If you want to put it that way…"

"Oh, I must, I must." He put the keys in his pocket. "Call Beckman, use the bedroom TV."

Chuck watched her go, then looked at his family. Ellie, laughing again, so effortlessly a couple with Devon. Morgan and Alex, who had to work at it, and the spies who came in from the cold. Sarah looked over at him. She knew something was up, but she'd trust him to handle it.

All of them, his family. Truly he was blessed. What more could any man need? Frost and Volkoff would have to be dealt with, somehow, but Beckman was right, let someone else handle that mission. He had enough to do, gathering cheese and crackers for an unexpected party.

His phone rang. When he pulled it from his pocket the screen said 'Unknown Caller'. "Hello?"

"Hello, Chuck. It's…your mother."

* * *

**A/N2 **What timing she has! No wonder she's such a great spy.


End file.
